


Gifts From Paris

by Writcraft



Series: Rainy Weekend Prompts [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/F, Implied Unhappy Marriage, Infidelity, Light Bondage, Lucius and Narcissa are Married, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, Silk - Freeform, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Narcissa brings Rosmerta a gift from Paris.
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Madam Rosmerta
Series: Rainy Weekend Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649929
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Gifts From Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleurting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurting/gifts).



> Written for delacourtings on Dreamwidth who requested 'Narcissa/Rosmerta' and 'silk' for my Rainy Weekend Prompt series. Thank you for the prompt! In this fic Narcissa and Lucius are married, so there is infidelity. I hope that isn't a squick for you.

Narcissa chooses the silk when she’s in Paris for a weekend. She spends her time finding something luxurious and expensive, requesting a slender line of the rich, Slytherin green material. Her mouth waters whenever she slides the ribbon off the pretty box, tracing her fingers over the embossed writing on the front. The silk nestles in the tissue, curled into delicate spirals and exquisitely soft to the touch. Even stroking her fingers over it is intoxicating. She lifts it to her cheek and imagines how it might feel binding her wrists.

Packing the silk away again carefully, Narcissa makes her way to Hogsmeade. The shops, pubs and restaurants closed long ago, and the streets are still. Nevertheless, Narcissa looks quickly around to ensure nobody is following her. As quiet as it is, there are always things moving in the shadows. Lucius may be away on business, but he has his spies. 

“You have your own distractions, my darling,” Narcissa whispers. “I am entitled to mine.”

She quickens her step and enters the Three Broomsticks with the agreed three knocks at the kitchen entrance. She hates sullying herself by passing through the staff area like any other common visitor, but she understands the need for caution. It’s long past closing time, and Rosmerta doesn’t let in people who come knocking after hours, unless they’ve been specifically invited.

The door swings open and Narcissa closes it carefully behind her, locking it with a flick of her wand. She makes her way through the kitchen into the main bar, where a few candles send a soft glow throughout the space. Otherwise, the pub is dark and the scent of stale beer lingers. It should be off-putting but Narcissa has come to think of the Three Broomsticks at night as a place where pleasures can be safely indulged, somewhere no desire is too shameful to be spoken out loud. There’s a strangeness to being there when nobody else is around that makes her encounters with Rosmerta even more thrilling.

Narcissa glances at the windows, pleased by the hum of magic that cloaks the glass. The flickering candlelight allows Narcissa to see shadows moving outside as the odd person strolls through the streets. At this time of night it's likely to be Aurors, or less official wanderers that have no business being in Hogsmeade after midnight. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her heart quickening. Rosmerta likes it when Narcissa can see outside, even when they both know that nobody can see in. It emphasises the forbidden nature of their clandestine arrangement in a way that makes Narcissa's adrenaline spike. Sometimes Rosmerta lowers her voice and says _what if they could see you now?_ and it makes Narcissa shake and tremble with powerful waves of pleasure.

“You know I like it when I imagine they can see me,” Narcissa whispers. Heat pools lower in her body as she anticipates being spread open close to the cool glass. 

“Aye.” Rosmerta’s voice is low as she approaches Narcissa from behind, her lips brushing against the nape of Narcissa’s neck. “I know how much you enjoy that. You always make the sweetest sounds.”

Narcissa swallows, a shiver of desire travelling the length of her spine. She’s glad she took the time to wrap her blonde hair into a neat chignon. Although she knows very well her hair will soon be loosened and spread out like feathered wings, she likes to have her neck exposed at the beginning. She tilts her head to the side, a small moan of pleasure escaping her parted lips. 

“A present? How thoughtful.” Rosmerta laughs under her breath, plucking the expensive bag from Narcissa’s hand. She opens it, taking the lid off the box and letting out a low _hmm_ of interest when she sees the silk. She discards the tissue paper carelessly, the rip and tear of it making Narcissa shudder with anticipation at the countless ways Rosmerta knows how to be rough with her, just as she always enjoys. “Well isn’t this interesting?”

“A gift from Paris, ma chérie.” Narcissa’s heart beats rapidly in her chest as Rosmerta moves close once again, the delicate silk in hand. “For you.”

“Come on now.” Rosmerta tuts under her breath, murmuring a spell that leaves Narcissa completely unclothed. The cool air whispers against her body, the slide of the expensive silk against her skin heightening her desire. “Let’s not pretend this is a gift for me, although I’m sure I will enjoy using it well enough. You want to be bound?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Narcissa replies. Her voice is always so breathy when Rosmerta’s this close. She would be embarrassed, but she knows Rosmerta enjoys it when Narcissa loses her inhibitions. “Very much.”

“And you remember our agreement?” Rosmerta’s voice holds a note of caution. She's always been strict about this. Narcissa does have a habit of pretending she's at Rosmerta’s mercy, after all.

“I remember.” Narcissa nods. She whispers the word they agreed upon if it all gets too much into Rosmerta’s ear. It’s another thing that’s just theirs. The word that makes Narcissa think of safety is more revealing than all the things they do together. “I suggest we begin. Perhaps—?”

Narcissa glances towards a spot by the window, and Rosmerta chuckles. She settles behind Narcissa again and slips her hands around Narcissa’s waist, sliding them up, over her belly towards her breasts. Her lips trace maddening patterns on the nape of Narcissa’s neck, the tickle of warm breath against cool skin creating hot shivers of desire.

“What do you want?” Rosmerta murmurs. She slides her palm—wrapped in the soft silk—over Narcissa’s nipple, the touch travelling like a spell through Narcissa’s veins. “Your lovely Parisian silk, of course. Bound at the wrists. Next to the window so all those people can see you. What else?”

“Taste me,” Narcissa begs. Her voice falters, her legs already parting eagerly as Rosmerta slips a deft, confident hand lower. “I want you to taste me. He doesn’t, you know. He believes it’s unsanitary.”

“More fool him, then.” Rosmerta sounds like she’s rolling her eyes. 

Rosmerta guides Narcissa to the window where they find a good position. It’s not long before Narcissa’s wrists are bound with the silk, the bow and the hungry look in Rosmerta’s eyes making her feel like an expensive present. Rosmerta settles between Narcissa’s legs and runs her fingers over Narcissa’s thighs, pushing her legs a little wider.

“Close your eyes,” Rosmerta whispers. “You really are the most beautiful creature and your husband is a fool.”

The night gathers around them as Narcissa dutifully closes her eyes. As pleasure warms her body she wonders, as she often does on these occasions, how very different her life might have been if she had followed the path that continues to bring her to Hogsmeade while the rest of the world sleeps.

Not everything can stay neatly packaged like beautiful satin, Naricssa decides. It is important—once in a while—to tear off the paper and let everything unfurl.


End file.
